


Wingman

by OverwatchingYouSleep



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Forced Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Immobilization, Loss of Virginity, Mind Control, Other, Rape Recovery, Wraith Form
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-09
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-11-12 04:45:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11154510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverwatchingYouSleep/pseuds/OverwatchingYouSleep
Summary: Reaper is tired of watching you two tiptoe around.Spin-off of another fic, Misconduct, that I'm kind of gay for. Not a rewrite, no affiliation to the original authors, blah blah. Read the tags before you dive in please.





	1. Reaper

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Misconduct](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572498) by [Antiloquist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiloquist/pseuds/Antiloquist), [FiveTail](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FiveTail/pseuds/FiveTail). 



> Check out more of my writing @overwatching-you-sleep.tumblr.com

There was something almost endearing to it. Watching Jack fall in love all over again.

How sad it was for you that you had met the enigmatic, secretive 76 instead of the fresh, young Jack Morrison that Gabriel had fallen for. Before he’d had a mask to cover his face, all he had were words, and he wasn’t good with them when he got flustered. How he tried to hide what he truly meant in these complicated, drawn-on sentences that proved more about his ineptitude with love than his prowess in it. That was the Jack that he had fallen in love with. If that was who you had fallen in love with, Reyes probably wouldn’t have blamed you.

But Christ, you had to go with the soldier.

There was more in common between them than Jack would ever admit. Both of them turned from idealistic soldiers to violent vagabonds. They both ran from their past, and they both sought to punish those who were responsible. Both were hollow, burnt-out shells of what they used to be. The only thing that separated them at this point was that Soldier was still convinced that he was a good guy.

If someone had fallen in love with him, Gabe would have wondered what was wrong in their head. True to their parallels, he wondered the same about you. So many people in the world willing to give you their love with no issues, so many open books, and you had to find the one lockbox. Not even the busted mechanism or the rust around the edges would deter you. You just had to try and crack him open.

 That was interesting in and of itself. On one hand, it was so easy to see in Jack what you saw, but Gabriel had known the man for decades. He knew his every in and out, every mask and what lie beneath it. You had fallen in love with the cold, hard surface that Reaper found a nuisance. You adored everything that Gabriel never would have bothered with.

And he loved you back.

Maybe that was the real reason he found a sneer on his lips when he trailed you around the base. The barely palpable hesitation that kept him from wrapping his hand around his gun. It wasn’t that you loved the man that he loved; it was that Jack reciprocated. Nothing came of it yet, but it was there—fucking OBVIOUS—and that was one of the few things in this world that could still burn his dead heart.

It wasn’t your fault. You were just a stupid kid who didn’t know what you were getting wrapped up in. Hell, he doubted even his little tin soldier knew the world of Hell that awaited him. The look on his face was so calm behind that ugly mask. Gabriel was one of the only people that could ever sneak around him while he was asleep. Good to see that hasn’t changed.

Jack was due to wake in 3 minutes. His schedule was unhinged, Gabriel knew that he’d been skipping naps and overtaking others, so he wasn’t rushed. It was almost casual, slipping the needle through his neck. Injecting him slowly and watching the muscles on his exposed face rest, easing up until he truly looked at peace, even for a grizzled old man. His arms fell uncrossed by his sides, and he was out like a light.

Now, for you.

+++

It had been a while since you’ve had to outrun your feelings.

The track seemed empty without 76 at your side, his comfortable silence and heavier footfalls countering your light ones, but you wanted to be alone. You needed to pull away from this whole situation, from 76’s personal affairs, and re-orient yourself. Dare you say, you were getting too involved.

That almost felt like a selfish claim, but it was true no matter how you looked at it. Putting your life—and your newfound career—on the line for this man countless times, to save a person you didn’t know. The mission wasn’t the problem; it was you. You found yourself expecting too much out of it, out of him. The only way to work with him side-by-side without finding yourself completely engulfed in how badly you wanted to be with him was to find your distance.

Only when you tried to push away from him did you realize how heavily you welcomed his presence in your life. Even something as simple as running the track didn’t feel right without him there. You didn’t avoid him, not entirely, but just trying to go about your day-to-day life without seeking him out for some question, some conversation, some sense of approval on your progress was making you anxious. All the more reason for this separation.

You hated feeling dependent on his presence, even though you craved it. You knew the reality of the situation. You both had feelings for each other, but they aren’t amounting to anything except for a whole mess of confusion. You had to acknowledge that, and to be honest with yourself, you’d been neglecting nearly every aspect of Overwatch life to focus on your commander. Now was the time to start reaping the benefits of your job.

You had your day planned out in your head: You’d be spending a few hours in the laboratory with Winston to work on making your tech more portable. Then, after an hour long training session with Zarya, you planned on giving yourself a tour of the recreational wing of the facility. Barely used, and for good reason. You couldn’t remember when you’d last given yourself time off, and that was an indication that you were overdue for it.

The trees surrounding the path broke, leaving the trail ahead to the base wide open for your final stretch. You sped from a jog to a run, then a full-out sprint, pushing your body to its maximum just to see what your maximum was. You could clear this quarter mile in a minute. You’d be through the doors and in the shower room in two. You could do it. You were capable. You didn’t need him to goad you on.

The wind whistling around your head covered the noises behind you. You dismissed the black creeping at the edges of your vision as dehydration. A bee stung the back of your neck, probably drinking the sweat off you, but you paid it no mind. Not when the sting began to burn, not when it pulsed. But, when your legs got tangled up and fell beneath you; _that’s_ when the survival instinct began to kick in.

By that point, though, you were already passed out.

+++

The environment around you was so uninviting, you almost wanted to fall back asleep. Sweat fell between the creases of your clenched eyes before you even opened them. When you opened your lips, your breath forced its way out of your mouth in thick pants. It was so fucking _hot_.

You rolled your shoulders, pushing your brainpower past your discomfort to try and get a feel for what kind of a mess you were in. You were sitting up, in a wooden chair that you'd obviously been sitting in for some time, if the wood dripping with your sweat was any indication. Beneath you, the cushion was absolutely soaked. You probably reeked of B.O.

Behind the chair, your wrists were bound tightly to either side of the backboard, effectively immobilizing you. Regrettably, your hair was no longer in its ponytail, now falling over your neck and trapping the heat around your head. Tilting your head to the side revealed how most of it stuck to your skin in the oppressive heat.

Finally, once you couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, you submitted to opening your eyes. You wished you'd had the good sense to do it slowly. After all, you weren't in the dank, murky torture chamber of your nightmares.

Quite the opposite: it was a greenhouse. That explained the unbearable heat.

When you opened your eyes again, this time at a much more reasonable pace, things came into focus one at a time. The clay floor beneath your bare feet. The various tools lying around, unused. You looked up, catching sight of another pair of feet, and followed the person up until the familiar sight of a red visor met your eyes.

Despite the blazing heat, you all at once felt cold.

"Commander!" you rasped, your own breath heavy in your throat. It had to be in the hundreds. Your Canadian blood could only take so much shock.

As for him, he looked to be in significantly better shape than you, only a few beads of sweat dripping over his forehead, disappearing into the curve of his mask. He was tied up just like you, with a metal chair and what looked like much stronger bonds than yourself. You couldn’t find it in you to be offended at the implication.

"Reader..." he didn't sound as disoriented as you, meaning he'd been up longer. He was looking right at you. "Stay still."

"Why?" You obeyed his command--he'd earned that much--but it confused you. He obviously knew more about what was going on than you, was he going to fill you in or what?

"Stay. Still." His own breathing was hard, you could see his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down in his throat as he stared at you. He looked so tense. He was devoid of his jacket (Thank god, you couldn't imagine how he'd be suffering otherwise) and in his plain black tee shirt you could see the hard lines of his muscles, every one flexed and frozen. His entire body was on edge.

You did as he said, but not without confusion written all over your face. You took in as much of the scenery as you could without moving, taking in the huge glass dome that contained the both of you; the pure white light that filtered through every pane of glass, sparkling off every dew drop on every plant. If the circumstances were nicer, it would have been beautiful.

On top of that: not a single evil torture device in sight. You shot him a silent question with your eyes, and he jerked his chin up. A tiny, barely visible gesture. Your eyes widened at the realization that perhaps he wasn't looking at you, but behind you.

Understanding immediately, you focused your senses behind you. It took a moment for your fugue to press through the blanket of heat that encompassed you, but you smelled it. The scent of gunpowder and rotting flesh. It reeked like an entire pile of bodies was behind you. You began to shake in your bonds.

"Commander," you whispered, communicating your distress to him in rapid blinks. He looked no more at ease than you were, but he seized up twice as violently when a third voice cut into your conversation, mocking and vicious.

_"Commander."_

There was a man behind you. You tightened your hands into fists again, but you kept still despite your every urge not to. You had to trust him in this. You had to. You had no idea what was going on, completely blind and untrained for this. He was your only lead, you trusted him, and you'd follow him through any order he gave you, so long as it got you both out of here _alive._

"Christ, she's a kid, Soldier." Something pressed against the back of your head. It wasn't anything human but it felt much too large to be a gun. It couldn't be, right? "Is this what you're into nowadays?" The click reverberated against your skull.

“ _Oh god.”_ No wonder it was so huge, it was a fucking shotgun. You doubted the safety was on.

"I'm not into her," 76 barked, a bit too quick. The words--though you knew not entirely true--still stung you a bit, and you hoped it didn't show in the way you flinched. The gun pressed harder into your cranium, dragging down to your sweating neck.

"You're going to try and pass that bullshit on me?" the stranger asked, parting your waves of loose hair to press the metal against your flesh. You expected the cool contrast of metal, but it held a light burn against your skin. The gun had been fired recently. Your saliva went thick.

"It's not--"

"You think I don't _know_ \--"

Fingers--if these animalistic claws could be classified as that--dug into your scalp, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing your head back, until the gun was resting just beneath your skull. You still couldn't see your assailant from this angle, but you had a feeling he could see you.

"--about your little crush?"

You pressed your lips together, intent not to say anything that would either damage 76's reputation or be an outright lie. (You were terrible at that, you remembered.) The fingers--claws--crawled out of your hair and began to trail down your forehead, leaving pink scratches as they ran down your cheek and off your chin. There was a silent hum, one that almost sounded positive.

"Not bad, but worth it?" Finally, the gun was yanked away from your skull and you could breathe again, your body slouching forward as far as it could. Another click, and you felt hard metal against your spine. "I think not."

"Don't!" 76 yelped, his feet scuffing against the floor as he struggled to stand. You were torn between emotions, unsure how to feel that your commander was begging someone not to shoot you--someone who seemed still very intent to shoot you--and you couldn't help but keep thinking if this next thought would be your last.

"Don't what?" The barrel dug between your shoulder blades, forcing your body forward. "Kill her? Like you killed me?"

Your eyes shot up to 76, but his refused to meet them. He was focused entirely on the stranger behind you.

"I didn't kill you." Even he didn’t sound too confident.

"Is that what you tell yourself?"

"You think it was _my_ fault that you betrayed us?"

"Is **THAT** \--"

The stranger pulled away from you with a furious huff, metal clattering against the floor as he discarded his weapon. The sentence trailed off into a series of indignant growls, and you saw a pair of heavy combat boots pull into your vision, right in between you and 76. You looked up, but all you could see was a black trench coat, blocking the stranger from your view.

"You turned against all of Overwatch."

"You probably think I was a criminal too." The words were spit out with accusation written all over them. Soldier took the challenge.

"Aren't you?"

The stranger's shoulders shook in ugly laughter, and you felt all at once afraid of this man. Sure, he had already pressed a gun to your head and certainly had no issue with killing you, but now it became obvious that he enjoyed what he did, this sick fuck. He was a cold-blooded murderer.

It was also obvious that he had some sort of history with 76, but you couldn't parse any of it with how little you knew about him. But this situation practically wrote itself. If he had issues with 76, and you were someone 76 cared about...

The pieces fell together with terrifying clarity. You were starting to understand why you got wrapped up in this.

"You're deluded, Jack." Jack?

"I'm not the one who’s deluded." The stranger didn't respond, but then he turned to you, and you saw the bone-white of his mask.

No, not bone. An owl.

"Gabriel Reyes." You hadn't meant to state the conclusion out loud, it just erupted from you, the moment your eyes met his dark sockets. For a moment, the man actually seemed at a loss for words. They _both_ did.

“How…?” Behind the mask, 76’s tone betrayed his wonder. You weren’t supposed to know anything about this. How you’d gotten your hands on the name alone was raising more questions than he had the words to ask, but for you to recognize the man meant a whole new game entirely. Where you got that information was the obvious first question, but the second one that came to mind was even more worrying: If you knew this, what else did you know about him?

“So…” Gabriel tilted his head. “You told this one about me?” The anger that surrounded him a moment before dissipated, replaced with an irate curiosity. Turned to you fully now, his overbearing silhouette intimidated you with its muscular physique. If his physicality didn’t speak of destructive power, his aura exuded it. Quite literally, you could see the smoke burning off his head, surrounding him in a halo of shade.

“I didn’t tell her anything.”  
  
_“_ Obviously.” You hoped, for your own sake, that the spiteful mocking on his part meant he was in some sort of a good mood. Usually, people in good moods don’t tie other people to chairs, but you only had so much hope to cling to at this point. “She just figured this one out on her own, didn’t she?”

“ _Sombra_.” That was all that 76—Jack—had to say for Gabriel to understand. His shoulders rose and fell in a weary sigh. You could almost sense the distaste that arose behind his mask.

“Of course,” he said, like it was obvious. You couldn’t see his face, couldn’t tell how he was looking at you, but you felt a shift in his demeanor. “She had to be involved somehow. I guess that saves me some explaining, now doesn’t it?”

“Not much,” you said, your voice weak to even your own ears. “I don’t know who you are, or how you’re special to my Commander. I just know that he cares about finding you.” Behind Gabriel, you caught sight of 76 staring at you, trying to communicate some emotion through his mask that was getting lost in translation. You tried to brush him out of your mind.

“So he could kill me,” Reyes brushed off, turning his head defiantly. You wouldn’t be deterred.

“So he could _save_ you,” you insisted. Gabriel scoffed, turning on his heel until he could face both of you at once.

“Is that so?” Gabriel asked him, but his tone made the rhetorical obvious. Jack (wow, was that really his name?) said nothing, his tense body still in his bonds. Thinking. It only took a second for Reyes to get bored with the conversation and wave his hands in the air, dispelling it all.

“Whatever. I’m tired of preamble.” He turned to Jack, then changed his mind and looked at you instead. “I bet you haven’t told him about his jacket.”

The whiplash of his words sent a flood of emotions through you, reddening your face and making you quake in your sneakers. Your eyes fell to the floor in what ultimately became a mortifying shame. He was watching you in the hotel room. He’d been following you around—why? Why wouldn’t he be following Jack instead?

Why had he _watched?!_

“What…” you managed, your voice trembling with the rest of you, “does that have to do—“

He seized you by your hair, pulling your flustered face up to look him in the eye-socket. You tried to find his eyes beyond the shade of his mask but the black was impenetrable.

“It has _everything_ to do with what’s about to happen here.” He tugged with more force, stinging your scalp and making you hiss through your teeth. His other hand found its way around your body and began to dig into your restraints. The metal claws hit your skin wherever he frayed through the rope, small stinging scratches that distracted you just a tad from your aching head.

“What are you doing to her?” Jack demanded, stretching his neck to look around Gabriel and see you. Gabriel sidestepped purposefully to block his view, breaking through the ropes and seizing both of your wrists in his sizable hand.

“It’s not going to be about what I’m doing,” Gabriel said. His hand finally slid out of your hair and traced thin pink scratches down the side of your face, a parody of a caress. “You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Then, perhaps the biggest red flag of your delirium, he disappeared like an apparition in front of you, dissolving into smoke and dissipating. It was like seeing a ghost. You tried to rip your hands away but they still held tight, as though he hadn’t relinquished his grip at all. You sucked in a heady breath and immediately regretted it, sputtering out what felt like gasoline fumes and smoke. You tried to force it out, but you found it forcing its way back _in._

“Jack!” the name didn’t feel natural on your lips, but the urgency in your gut called for more than a “sir” or “commander.” The tainted air took advantage of your open mouth and pulled itself down your throat, taking root in your nervous system and make your entire body jolt stiff.

“Reader!” he sounded distressed. You could see the creases of worry on his forehead. He pulled harder against his bonds, groaning with the effort, trying to reach you. You wanted to reach out to him, but your entire body felt incased in ice. Your senses, your movement, everything was out of your control.

“I gotta say Jack,” you felt your body say, but the voice that came out of your mouth was far from your own. You looked down at your own hands, a strange pressure on the back of your eyes telling you that something else was looking through them. “You don’t have bad taste. I’d know.”

“Gabriel, get the fuck out of her.” Jack’s voice was low and commanding, but even you could see the vein protruding on his neck, the sweat that ran down the sides of his face. You—he—laughed, and though your body shook with amusement, it felt like a shudder.

“Or what? What are you going to do to me? To her?” You were brought to stand, your legs feeling like wooden joints being puppeteered. He moved you closer to Jack, until he forced you to straddle Jack’s lap, pushing his back to rest against the chair. The move brought both of you to a pause.

“Besides, I’m doing you a _favor_.” Your fingers pried beneath his mask, trying to pull the metal away from his skin, and he tried to swing his face to the side in protest. A growl, and you wrenched his head back with such force that it made you internally wince. You heard the hiss of the mask depressurizing as it pulled away from his skin, and you did your best to close your eyes as his face came free, but even that was impossible.

His eyes were as beautiful as you remember.

Gabriel pushed you forward, and your biggest desire came true in the worst way possible. He forced you to kiss Jack’s scarred lips with force and savagery, things that you never would have treated him with, and he responded with strangled moans and a more intense struggle to get free. Whatever was holding him down had to be strong.

Your lips broke away but hovered close, your heavy breaths mingling with Jack’s. He was sweating, but you felt cold and dry. “Just like you wanted,” Gabe spoke through you, a nasty grin stretching your cheeks, “am I right?”

“No—“

“ _Yes._ ” You couldn’t feel what Gabriel felt, but you could guess from how he snarled with your lips and ground your teeth together that he was losing his patience. “I wish you’d be honest. It’d help.”

Your body was pulled away from his and you stood to your feet right in front of him, taking a moment to stare down at his bound form. You wondered what Gabriel was thinking, observing Jack like this, and a chuckle burst through your lips.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” he muttered beneath your breath, just loud enough for you to hear. The blood drained from your face. With a satisfied smirk, he lowered you down to your knees and nudged his way between Jack’s legs.

Your fingers felt clumsy, but you watched them unzip his pants with fluent accuracy. Jack tried to push himself away, his feet scuffing on the floor, but the chair wouldn’t budge. The boxers went next, pulled down just enough for Jack’s cock to come bouncing out in your face. The size made you pale, but still your lips pulled into a smile. You grabbed it almost lovingly, giving it a few gentle strokes.

“Just like I remember you.” Though the statement felt sentimental, it was said with venom.

“Gabriel, please. She doesn’t want this.”

“What are you Jack, an idiot?” You shook your head, and your tongue poked out past your lips, wrapping around the head of Jack’s dick for a gentle taste of his precum. He shuddered violently, his fingers digging into the chair behind him, and you spit out a laugh. “She wants this even more than you.”

He was right, it couldn’t be denied. You had masturbated to the very image of this, taking his cock in your mouth and sliding your tongue over the slit, feeling his body react to you in the most alluring way. You didn’t think that very situation could happen in a way that you could hate, but here you were.

Gabriel closed your eyes, allowing you a moment’s respite as your lips opened and you took his thick length in your mouth. Obviously used to a more experienced mouth, Gabriel forced you all the way down on his cock and you nearly choked. Your body responded furiously, gag reflex and all, but he suppressed it all.

“Please--!” Jack’s voice was grit through his teeth, his eyes clenched shut and you could tell he was trying hard not to enjoy the stimulation, the _sight_ of you sucking him off. Gabriel responded by bobbing your head back and forth, your tongue pressed flat on the underside of his cock. In the corner of your eye, you saw a trail of smoke just like from earlier wrapping around Jack’s head and sliding into his nose.

That seemed to do it for him. His lips, white from being pressed together so harshly, broke apart in a pant. His entire body slouched, his legs spread and his body language turned from resistant to welcoming. Though there was still conflict on his face, his body seemed unable to fight against it any longer.

“There we go.” Now Gabriel’s voice came out of Jack’s mouth, accented only slightly by Jack’s deep rumble. He looked down at you, and you could see a rim of red around Jack’s baby blue eyes, his pupils taking up nearly all his iris. Was that what you looked like?

“This would be so much nicer for both of you if you’d _cooperate_ —“ Gabriel seemed to stop himself there, taking a deep breath through Jack’s nose before forcing you both to make eye contact. “But that’s alright. I’m willing to play wingman for a couple of ungrateful assholes.”

Your finally pulled your aching jaw away from Jack’s dick, saliva drawing thin trails from the head of his cock to your lips. You felt like heaving. Gabriel made you stand up, sending you into a dizzy spell that didn’t seem to affect his puppeting of your body at all. When your eyes refocused, you had straddled Jack’s lap, his cock standing up against your lower stomach, reaching just below your naval.

“Most people wouldn’t be willing to help you out like this, Jack,” he said through you, moving your hand to grab his cock and stroke it with vigor. Jack’s hands slid beneath your thighs, grabbing hold of your spandex running shorts and ripping them at the seam, a fine line tearing right down the middle of your crotch. His muscles barely flexed.

“But I care about you,” Jack’s lips said next, and you could see how Jack’s face just barely twitched. Whatever he was feeling, he was feeling it strongly. “So I’ll give you a hand, every step of the way. Since you can’t handle something as simple as a crush on your own.”

Your hips were pulled up, your new tear positioned right over his member. There was a moment of anxious hesitation where Gabriel truly let your fear sink in before pushing you down hard on Jack’s cock, forcing you to take him all. For a moment his influence lightened, and both of your moans spilled out into the humid air around you.

“How’s that?” Gabriel asked through Jack, and you found that your mouth was your own again; though words escaped you. Gabriel was focused on controlling Jack now, snapping his hips up into yours with intensity, holding back none of Jack’s incredible strength, and you knew already you would bruise.

“I-I-I’m—“ you stuttered, still unable to move your body, only able to close your eyes and squeeze out your pained tears. “—I’ve nev—I can’t—“

“You’ve never what?” Jack slowed but didn’t stop, pumping his hips with an almost passionate ease as his eyes peered into yours. You could almost see Jack’s remorse past Gabriel’s bewilderment. “Never had sex?”

You shook your head, tears tumbling down your cheek from the pain. All movement ceased, save for a wisp of smoke snaking around Jack’s body and loosening his restraints.

“Oh.” Now free, Jack’s hands came to rest on your hips, forcing you to grind back and forth on his cock. You threw your head back and wailed, the sound making his eyes widen in surprise. Then, delight.

“Oh, that is _rich._ ”

He continued to pound into you, a bit gentler this time, but no less vigorous. He moved your hands to Jack’s shoulders, forcing you to grab onto Jack’s shirt before he bounced you on Jack’s lap, his hips throwing your body up and down on Jack’s cock. The brutal force ripped a cry from your throat, and you tried to dig your head in Jack’s chest, but Gabriel held you back, forced you to look Jack in the eye.

“See, Jack?” he spoke through you again, his presence in your throat again making you gag subconsciously. “She was saving herself for you, isn’t that nice? Why don’t you tell her thank you?”

A gasp erupted from Jack’s throat, and you knew he had regained control of his own voice. He looked up at you, Gabriel’s influence still clear in his eyes, but all the emotion on his face was his own.

“God, I’m so sorr-“ his face contorted, becoming an amused sneer.

“That doesn’t sound like thank you.” Again, Jack took over, but this time he seemed much more hesitant. The force with which Gabriel seized you both, able to take over your body at a moment’s notice, it seemed to scare him as much as you. He looked at you, still bouncing on his lap, desperately trying to ignore the coiling pit of pleasure in your gut, the increased stimulation in your folds as he—Gabriel—both brought you closer to climax.

“Thank you,” Jack said, sounding half-possessed. He held your lips still, keeping you in place so that he could catch you in a kiss. His tongue pressed past your lips, running over yours and down your throat, and he moaned in your mouth. There was a snag in his rhythm, his thrusts getting more wild beneath you, and he pulled away to gasp.

“I’m going to cum.” He groaned, his fingers digging harder into you, and he closed his eyes. “Goddammit, pull out.”

“Oh, I will.” You didn’t like how sinister he sounded, not before he left your throat and gave you control over your own voice again. You whimpered and whined, your body nearing climax and with nothing to throw you over the edge. Jack threw his head back, teeth digging into his lips. You wanted to reach out to him, beg him to let you finish, but both of you froze entirely, one thought running across both of your minds.

_“Cum.”_

Immediately your body felt 20 lbs lighter, and the sensation of regaining control over your nervous system was almost too much shock to bear. The orgasm that followed nearly knocked you unconscious, your back arching so far that Jack had to grab onto you to keep you from falling. You could tell by the way he groaned and twitched that he was cumming too, deep inside of you and unable to help it. He was probably just as disoriented as you.

The high began to die down as quickly as it hit. Letting you go, Jack allowed you to slide off him and to the floor. He followed soon after, falling face first beside your limp body. Neither of you could find it in you to move or speak with your newfound freedom. The heat fell heavy on your skin; sweat pouring out of you both from exhaustion and the temperature. Just out of your line of sight, Gabriel rematerialized and knelt beside you both to pat your shoulders.

“See? Now isn’t that better?” With a mocking laugh, he stood over you both, taking one more look at your pathetic recovering forms before vacating in a wave of mist. He left you with one final command, spoken in your ears as he wisped past.

 “Now why don’t you talk about your feelings?”


	2. Recovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One step at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to popular request (and my own love for the story) I went ahead and did a second chapter that got WAY out of hand in terms of word count. So enjoy all that <3
> 
> Check out more of my work @overwatching-you-sleep.tumblr.com

You hadn't properly slept in two days.

The greenhouse was only the beginning of your house of horrors. You had to report what happened to Winston, for one. Though the gorilla was extremely understanding, it was difficult looking him in the eye and giving him the recap, for a lot of reasons. Fortunately, you didn’t get in too much graphic detail before he was more concerned about the mind control aspect you brought up.

"That's not an ability we were aware of him having," he told you, turning to walk over to his computer and type in a search. Dozens of files popped up, including a headshot of Reaper in his mask, right beside another one of a man. You double-took at the second one. He was clean-cut, professional. His eyes looked strict but warm, he was well-kept and certainly didn’t look sinister.

"That's what Reaper looks like?" you asked Winston, receiving an almost-sympathetic look from him.

"What he used to look like," he corrected you, pulling the headshot off the screen before you could get a better look. "There was an... accident a few years ago. His molecular structure was entirely changed. As for what he looks like now..." he paused, looking back up at the collection of information he had on Reaper.

"You're saying you don't know?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying." The gorilla opened a new file and began to write something down about this new information. He obviously wasn’t intending to give you any more info on the subject. "Explain what it felt like, please."

"Explain...the mind control?" you asked him, pulling yourself into a swivel chair next to the computer. Winston nodded, pushing his glasses up his flat nose. You looked down at your hands, recalling how your muscles refused to respond to anything, how your own thoughts had been there, but buried beneath his influence, as though you were held hostage in your own brain.

"It felt..." you started, closing your eyes to dig deeper. "...like he was right behind my eyes. Like he was--"

He was there. Evaporating and invading your nose, sliding up past your sinuses and drilling into your brain. Control was leaving you, you were on your knees again, in front of your Commander, and he was making you say all those awful things with a mouth you didn't feel in control of. You couldn't resist it, not even in your own flesh, he had left you with nothing to fight back with. Right there, in your head, reading your thoughts, watching you--

You jerked forward with a gasp, grabbing onto your chest and trying to calm the throbbing in your head. It had all crossed your mind in the span of a second. How he'd used you, both of you. He could do it again. He was still out there, thinking he helped you out in his own fucked up way, and now you were here to deal with the fallout of something that could very well happen again. You didn't even remember when you started crying, but suddenly your cheeks were too hot, your breath was coming out in short bursts. You were having difficulty controlling your breath.

It felt _pathetic._

"Hey," Winston exclaimed, his massive hand coming to rest on your back. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you..."

His questions were skirting around the obvious elephant in the room from then on, careful not to upset you again. You were grateful for the subtle change, and you still couldn’t get out of there fast enough when Winston dismissed you.

Beyond him, there was the medical testing, the stream of agents coming in to ask you if you were alright while you tried to nap in your hospital bed. The longest amount of rest you'd been able to get was an hour. You hated how fast word traveled in this building. Fortunately, due to the confidentiality laws, all that was known was that you'd been injured in an ambush by Reaper, and none of the gritty details had earned you additional looks of pity or, god forbid, disgust.

When Mercy finally discharged you from the med ward after a day of observation, you trudged back to your room and made doubly sure to lock the door behind you. You couldn’t take any more interruptions, well-meaning or not. You hardly considered your issued bed comfortable, but your body didn’t seem to mind, since it was asleep before you hit your pillow.

You weren’t sure how long you were out before you dreamed, but from your disorientation, it felt like a while. Your dream, when you did finally visualize something, was literal nothingness. In a vast black space, where you couldn't tell the floor from the walls, the depth or the height. If you couldn’t look down and see your own body, you wouldn’t have even realize you were dreaming.

The worst of it was that you were lucid, able to consciously think and analyze. These dreams weren’t common at all for you. Were you just that tired? Would you be able to get any rest when your mind was still running in your sleep?

"Well well well." The faux cheeriness in that familiar voice iced your blood. You whipped around, seeing nothing behind you but the expanse of black you were trapped in. The voice was over your shoulder, like his lips were right beside you, but you felt no presence beyond your own. You turned again when he spoke on your other side. "We meet again."

"Words I never wanted to hear," you responded, but unable to put the gumption into the jab that you desired. You couldn't hope to scare him, not when he was literally in your mind. It clicked with that thought, and you closed your eyes to prepare for your oncoming headache. He was really in your head. He was _still_ in your head.

"I just wanted to drop by," he said casually, just out of your line of sight no matter which way you turned. "See how you were feeling."

That obviously wasn't why he "dropped by." You squinted out into the distance, trying to make out anything in the black, but there was nothing. No lapse in the darkness, no secret door, no form of respite.

"Why don't you tell me the real reason?" you asked him. His responding laugh was one of the most bone-chilling sounds you've ever heard.

"Aww. At least you're smart enough to know I don't care." You turned around, and the sudden splash of color nearly hurt your eyes. There was a marsh in front of you now, a huge expanse of murky green water tinted with algae, a tree reaching up out of the river every here and there and lavishing the area in thick, squishy vines that hung from their branches like streamers. You couldn't see anything through them, but when you did a full 360, you realized that the swampland surrounded you now, trapping you in. You now stood on a muddy piece of land, the water just barely lapping at your toes.

For a slice of nature you’d normally find charming, the whole scene was _ugly._ The colors were not as vibrant as they were in the real world; a muted swamp palette that made it difficult to discern how far back the vines went, how deep down the water was. You skid your toes through the lukewarm water, watching the rings spread out from the impact on the surface until they disappeared under the algae. Another step, and your foot slid across the dirt, ensuring the water was barely ankle-deep.

You pushed forward, moving the huge vines out of your way to get past as you went. Each one was so dark green it might as well have been black. They weren't any sort of plant that you knew of, slimy and nearly pulsing with life. You didn't want to touch them too much, but they were all around you.

"So, what is it?" you called out to the swamp, peering in any direction for signs of the cloaked man.

Your response came from behind you, like before. "Just announcing my presence."

You turned around, and this time, he allowed himself to be seen. At least, you thought initially, but the masked man before you looked little like Gabriel Reyes. His eyes burned with a radioactive green flame so concentrated it burned to look in them. His mask was the same bone-white, but protruded out into a sharp beak, like a vicious bird of prey. Though you couldn't see a visible crack in the perfect material of the mask, oily black sludge oozed along the beak's edges. The fluid dripped into the water and sunk immediately to the bottom. He took a step towards you, and you took two back.

"Are…you…?" you stuttered, trying and failing to regulate your voice. This creature, from his decorated robe and even sharper edges, more intense eyes, was forcing your body into retreat. He tilted his head and narrowed his flaming eyes, and you finished your sentence in a whisper. “Gabriel?”

His shoulders shook in laughter, but the sound never came out, just a faint wheeze that made the dripping slime bubble at the edge of his mask. He started in a slow circle around you, nonplussed when you turned to face him everywhere he went, hellbent on not letting him get behind you. Finally, when he had done a full circle around you, he spoke.

“I am the angel of Death.” You could never see yourself taking a proclamation like that seriously, but you both knew this man well and knew nothing about him. What you did know was that he was every bit as dangerous as he claims. That was all you felt you needed—or wanted—to know about this man, but you knew that this wouldn’t be the end of it. You were caught now, in whatever conflict was between Gabriel and your commander. You had the feeling you’d be learning a lot of unwanted information before this was over.

Finally, you brought up the question that’d been sizzling in your gut since this dream started. “What do you want from me? Seriously?”

He tilted his head, childishly innocent, and stared at you for a second. There was no warning when the mud disappeared from beneath your feet, sending you down into the murky water. What was left of your breath escaped you in a scream before you mouth hit the water’s edge.

When you fell below the surface, you kept sinking despite your wild thrashing. It felt so much heavier than normal water, physically sliding into your nose and mouth even though your breath resisted. Algae clung to your cheeks and neck, dragging you down further. The surface felt further and further away the more you clawed.

“Someone’s here for you.” You hear it in your ear, clear as day. Not a second passed before a fiery green figure speared through the water’s surface at lightning speed, aimed for you like a harpoon and opening his huge, monstrous beak wide to swallow you whole.

++++++

You rose so quickly you nearly hit your forehead on your own knees, sitting up in your bed and wiping the sweat away from your face. Jesus, you hadn't been that afraid, had you?

...Maybe you had.

You shook your head and rubbed your eyes, trying to slow your beating heart. It didn't help that those green eyes were burned on the back of your eyelids, staring into your brain every time you blinked. You just wanted sleep. Sleep would be so nice.

Even in the dark of the room, it still burned to open your eyes all the way. You'd take it over Reaper's permanent gaze. Trying to make out the room in front of you, you wondered if it'd ever go away. You blinked, and in that millisecond, your thought process changed to hoping it goes away.

You turned your head to the side and nearly popped a lung screaming. The figure in the dark darted forward, his hand covering your mouth and silencing you.

"It's me!" he said urgently, immediately freezing you in place. He took your halted scream as a good sign and released you, letting you sit straight up and stare at him.

"Jack?" you said, and immediately regretted it. You weren't supposed to know that name, let alone use it. "I mean, Comman--"

"Cut the shit." He waved you off, pulling himself down to a seat on the bed beside you. "I'd be offended if you called me your Commander right now. Watch your eyes." You barely processed the sentence before your light was turned on, forcing your weak eyes shut. That stare was still there, burning into your soul, and you opened them back up much earlier than you would have liked, tears running down your cheeks from the burn.

"I said watch your eyes. What are you doing?" He reached for you, wiping the streams of tears from your cheeks so that you could open your eyes the rest of the way. He was wearing his mask, visor deactivated and his eyes just barely showing through the glass.

"I can't..." you breathed, blanching as the full detail of your dream hit you. Gabriel had said that someone was here to see you. Did he mean Jack? "I had a nightmare."

"Oh." He seemed to be at a loss for words for a moment, staring at you but saying nothing. Just as he opened his mouth to speak, you beat him to it.

"Why are you in my room?" you asked him, looking over his shoulder at the door. It was closed, but unlocked, the opposite of how you left it.

"I was...thinking." He pushed himself back, letting his head rest on the wall your bed was up against. "Thinking of what I was going to say to you when you woke up. I didn't think..." he trailed off and instead turned his focus on you. "Wasn’t expecting a nightmare. Sorry."

"Not your fault. How'd you get in?" You saw him blink beyond his mask, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"You fell asleep with your door open." He saw your face harden in response and sat up, immediately alert.

"I locked it," you told him, and he cursed under his breath, both of you turning to look at the door. You could guess who the culprit was, and felt yourself grow a little nauseous already. Gabriel was still trying to play "wingman" for you both. He could be in the building right now, still watching over you. Jack must have had the same thought, because he was moving to get up.

"Got to sound the alarm," he told you, ready to leap off the bed and to the door, but you grabbed his wrist, effectively stopping him in his tracks, but only so he could rip his hand out of your grasp. He turned to look at you, a bit sheepish from his avoidant reaction, holding his wrist in his other hand like you had harmed it. It was silent while he took in your stunned stare, then: "What is it?"

"He'll be out before we even get there," you told him, resting your offending hand back on the bed. "If he's been watching us all this time, and could kidnap two Overwatch agents without a problem, he's got the upper hand." He seemed moved by your reasoning, but he still stood by the door, cautious. You tried a bit more. "What were you going to say to me?"

This convinced him, and he brought himself back down onto your bed. He was wearing his regular clothes, jacket, shoes and all, like he was getting ready to go out on a mission. You knew this wouldn't be the case, since he wasn’t on active duty, but you knew he had his own agendas. You hoped he wasn't going out looking for Reyes.

"I just wanted to apologize," he said, and it looked like this was as far into his script as he got. His face became conflicted, staring at his hands as he pieced his words together seconds before they came out of his mouth. "Gabriel is my problem, and you shouldn't have gotten...involved in it. I can't believe he wrapped you up in this, and I know that won't make up for what happened between us..."

"Jack." The sound of his own name made him tense for a second, but he relaxed and turned to face you. "What happened was neither of our faults, and you don't have to apologize for his…whatever you’d call it, I guess. I just what to know...where this puts us." You looked directly into his eyes, unable to discern their shade through the translucent red of the mask. "You know, as me and you."

"...Is that what you're worried about?" he asked, and you knew immediately it had come out wrong. You raised your hands to defend yourself and elaborate.

"I mean, like. I don't want this to be what…” you trailed off into a yawn, covering your mouth and shaking it out. “I don’t want us to hate each other over this.” He shook his head and reached for you, wrapping one arm around you and hugging you to his side. The contact made your calming heartrate shoot back up, your body repulsed by the touch, but for this one time, you allowed it long enough for him to get his fill.

“I don’t hate you,” he said, his forehead resting on top of your head. “Please don’t think that’s what’s going on.”

“I don’t.” You tried to make your escape from the hug as natural as possible, but you could tell he knew from the way he retracted his hand so quickly. He was allowing you your space. You hoped he understood. “But I’m not sure, so that’s why I’m asking.”

“Well, rest assured.” You could hear the smile in his voice, even though he was obviously just as weary and strung-out as you were. “I won’t let this change anything between us. We just need some time to recover.”

“No kidding.” It sounded so simple when he said it. You just needed some time to recover. Like you were talking about a broken limb and not…well, what could you possibly use to explain what really happened? You tried to smile, but it came out without much conviction. You didn’t want to have this conversation, not right now. You just wanted to lay down and sleep.

“I promise you, we’re gonna get him for this.” You couldn’t find faith in his confident tone. You wanted to tell him about your dream, about Reaper knowing he was coming to talk to you. But you could save it for when you weren’t so tired. So, you just nodded and smiled at him.

“Alright,” you yawned, trying to crawl around Jack and get onto your pillow. You were so tired that the possibility of a return visit from Reaper didn’t even cross your mind, and maybe that was why you were out as soon as you hit the pillow for the second time in a few hours.

Jack watched you pass out, your tense face fading into peace, and he wished he didn’t feel guilty about staring. Not even a normal amount. He felt completely disgusting, all because he couldn’t look at you without getting the image of your fear out of his head. He knew you in the most intimate ways now, knew what you felt like inside and out and to him it was the most taboo, corrupt information to have in his hands.

He stood up, trying to wipe his palms off on the rough fabric of his pants, but the slimy feeling stuck with him long after he left.

+++++++

The morning brought you misery. Reaper hadn't made a return visit to your dream, not after Jack left your room, but you still didn't feel rested at all. Your 2 hours of feather-light sleep was burdened with the subconscious worry that the robed terrorist would be your boogeyman again. At least his hellish gaze no longer plagued you every time you blinked.

Regardless, your mood was instantly ruined when you woke up anyways, seized with guilt at how you’d handled the previous night’s visit. You practically brushed Jack off. Barely responsive, telling him not to raise an alarm in response to an intruder, asking if you two were _okay_? Of all things at the forefront of your mind, was that really what you managed to come up with? You felt selfish, not to mention terrible about not even being able to accept his hug properly. He deserved better.

You knew there was a reason for your actions: you were just too tired to think straight. You’d fallen asleep on him, even. But you knew that didn’t change the fact that it happened. You hoped you wouldn’t have to see him today, if maybe you could get away with staying under the radar. You just didn’t know what to think about it all.

You walked around base looking like a zombie. You had been pardoned from active duty to recover from your trauma, with no work on or off the field. Winston was kind enough to allow you a pardon for lab work in case you got the itch to be productive, but nothing on the records. In a military base, there wasn't much to occupy one's time **but** work, so you thanked him for the "gracious opportunity" to continue being his lab assistant.

As for 76, you still weren't sure about his plans. You knew he was still dressing like he was on duty, but he wouldn’t even be able to get out the door without getting caught. Workaholic that he was, that probably wasn’t sitting well with him.

You could only hope he was coping better with it than you were.

Since you had no work to get to, your schedule was more open than ever. You had to drop by Winston's lab and tell him about your dream but besides that, you were free as a bird. So, you decided to get your one obligation out of the way. The route from your room to the lab was memorized, and you made sure to grab hand sanitizer from the decontamination room before heading into the lab itself. You heard the voices before you even got through the door.

“And you’re certain you want to do this?” Winston was saying, just around the corner. The responding voice was that of your Commander. You pressed your body up against the wall, unable to even breathe for fear of detection.

“I know what I’m getting myself into,” 76 said, sounding final. There was a thoughtful hum from Winston, and you peeked around the corner to see him at his computer, looking at the man next to him with concern.

“I’m willing to argue that you don’t,” he said, turning back to his computer and typing something in. There was an explosion of files, the same files you had just looked at with Winston a couple days ago: Gabriel Reyes.

“Now, I’m not a doctor, so I’m not under any Hippocratic oath or anything like that,” Winston went on explaining, typing something in a little window at the bottom of his screen before turning to face 76 directly. “But I don’t want to approve any experiment that you don’t understand the ramifications of.”

“Damn it, Winston!” 76 grunted, pounding his fist lightly on the desk and turning around. His eyes fell on you—you could see his eyes—and immediately you were both frozen in place. He stood there, mask in place but his visor missing, those baby blue eyes staring at you in shock. You were stuck staring at him, reminded of how handsome he was when he wasn’t covered up.  Like you’d seen when—

Another string of memories flashed past your eyes. Pulling his mask off, and wrenching him back to face you when he resisted. How it felt kissing him for the first time, completely wrong, completely unwanted. The look on his face when Gabriel took him over, forced him to say whatever the man wanted, and doing the same to you. He’d looked scared, just like you.

Now, his face was likely the same as your own. A bit of longing, a bit of concern, and most of all, devastation. There was a message in his eyes, something he was trying to communicate to you, louder than Winston’s long-winded explanation, which you had turned into background noise. He wanted to say something, why couldn’t he say it?

Probably the same reason you turned and got out of the lab as soon as possible. You were afraid.

You nearly buckled to your knees once you got out to the hallway, pushing yourself along the wall until you were around the corner and out of sight. Only then did you thread your fingers through your dark hair and pull, until the ache on the outside of your skull hurt more than the one within it.

Every time the water settled, another stone was thrown, upsetting both your sound mind and body. You were becoming a wreck. Nothing you were doing to hold yourself together was working, not when all it took was a single thought and you quickly spiraled down the rabbit hole of traumatic memories, one after the other. How could you possibly make any sort of effort to combat that?

You needed a solution, something to settle your thoughts. You didn’t know how you could even go about beginning to look for a solution when you don’t even know the force you’re up against. But you were nothing if not motivated to try.

Back in your room, you cracked open a fresh journal and got to writing, looking for relief in your usual go-to. Page after page went through the same process of writing, scratching out, and eventually, balling it up and throwing it out. Hours quickly became days. Days crawled into weeks. You went through every journal in your meager desk drawers writing, scratching out, and tossing every scrap of paper that came your way, your trashcan barely peeking through the mountain of crushed paper balls.

You were no closer to any solution. You were becoming more stressed, nearly screaming in frustration when you came to the plastic back of your third journal that day. All this time and nothing to show for it. You were right, you didn’t even know where to begin. It wasn’t giving you the comfort that contingency crafting had always given you, and that sapped what little hope you had for yourself.

What else could you do, though? Give up and let the rest of your life play out this way? Something inside of you drove you to determination. It was hard not to feel like it was futile when you were so pessimistic, but a deeper, more intact part of you pressed you forward. You weren’t content to let fate play you its cards, and certainly not content with Reaper dealing them either.

So, you went on writing journals until your hands cramped. Spending late nights following what you thought was the right track. Even fruitless, you felt more productive doing this than anything else you felt capable of doing. So, save for your brief food and bathroom trips, you stayed locked away in your room. To your eternal reprieve, nobody, not even Jack, came to bother you.

Maybe you became just a bit too comfortable in this solitude.

++++++

"Someone isn't being very mature."

Oh great. It had been almost three weeks of peaceful sleep without Reaper's interruptions, and you had foolishly believed that maybe it was truly just a bad dream. Maybe it was easy to feel that way the more time passed; you forgot how real it had felt. How terrifying.

"What are you talking about?" You're not as afraid, not this time. Maybe it's a tolerance or immunity, maybe you were just angry enough at him to justify not being scared for the moment. Whatever it was, you hoped the bravado would last. You turn around and there he is, lazing in the swamp vines as though they were a hammock. He looked different this time, his outfit composed of deep blues and purples and his eyes an electric purple that was no more comforting than the green.

"When's the last time you've talked to him?" The statement was a smack to the face. You glared at him viciously, trying to retain your dignity and not think too hard about his question. After all, he was right, but it wasn't his place to be right about it.

"None of your business!" The word were barely off your tongue before he emerged from the ground in front of you, right in front of you, close enough for his beak to scrape against the tip of your nose. You took a step back and he matched it, letting no space between the both of you.

"What have you done to comfort him?" he questioned. You scoffed and pushed at his chest, not budging him an inch.

"Go to Hell! It's more complicated than that!” You had never felt so vicious.

He grabbed your arm, which you barely managed to shake off. "It's really rude of you to squander all my hard work because you want to sit in your bed and wallow."

He was right; that was all you had been doing. But you tried to ignore any of his comments related to his matchmaking technique. It led to thoughts along the lines of "We can't do that because it's just what the enemy wants!" and you'd rather not face that territory when you think of your relationship with Jack.

"Fuck you," you spit it at his face, staring him right in the eyes. It burned. They might be etched into your eyes come morning. But you wouldn't back down. You weren't going to be subservient to his game. He sighed and took a step back, running his thumb along the edge of his beak.

"Alright,” he muttered, seeming calm compared to his bubbling anger a second ago. “If that’s how you feel about it, that’s how you feel.”

He charged forward without another second of warning, reaching you in one step and shooting up over you into a ghastly monolith. His beak pulled apart with knife-like teeth lining the inside, wicked and bloodthirsty. You paled and pulled away, but he was trying to attack you now, his face closing in on yours. So close you could see the flame deep back in his throat, glowing like a jack-o-lantern.

"Get away!" You screamed, swinging your fist in an excellently-timed right hook. Your knuckles hit him square in the side of his beak and the mask shattered like porcelain in the path of your fingers. You followed through, not stopping until the entire thing was scattering in the air like dust. He fell straight back onto the ground, just beneath the surface of the water, but you weren't going to stop. This would be the last time he got in your head, you swore it.

You pulled yourself over his body, straddling his stomach and reaching for him beneath the surface. The water was so cloudy it was difficult to make out much of his face, but you managed to find the edges of his mask. That was your first target. You got your fingers beneath it and pried, the mask ripping off with effort and crumbling to dust in your fingers. The purple flame disappeared from the water, goading you on, and you began to pound your fists into his face. He didn't resist, making you think you might have already killed him, but you didn't care. You didn't fucking care. He deserved this.

Your punches continued, hitting him until his skin began sloughing into jelly beneath the water. You were a bit repulsed by the feeling, but you didn't stop until you were out of breath, your punches bringing back gelatinous fluid and blood between every finger. Only then did you calm down and look at the destruction you had wrought.

The water, already tinted an ugly brown, was now black, unidentifiable liquids seeping out of the cadaver below you and seeping through the rest of the swamp. You watched it travel, killing everything in its path, from algae to trees. The vines fell off the branches, each hissing with a final plea of death as it hit the toxic water.

You were so busy watching it, you barely noticed the water rushing away from the corpse, getting shallow, until he spoke to you.

"What a nuisance." You would have jumped off of him in shock if his gauntlets weren't digging into your thighs. You looked down at his face; his horrifically fucked-up face. Not only was it completely destroyed from your assault, but you could tell even underneath all of his damage that this man wasn't even human to begin with. Too many teeth and eyes and rotting flesh. Was **that** what you were punching?

No words came to your mouth, not even a scream. You just tried to rip your body away, and you had barely struggled before he reared his head back and screamed at you. His face pulled open into so many different folds of teeth, expanding like one massive mouth with an equally monstrous tongue; One that seized your neck in its grip, choking you and holding you close to deafen you with his banshee wail.

+++++

You bolted up even faster this time, unable to wipe the sight of his grisly visage from your brain. The man was a monster. He was a fucking monster and he was in your brain. You couldn't do fucking anything about it.

You laid back down with a heavy thud, staring up at the ceiling in conflict. You knew you wouldn't be going back to sleep tonight. You had been lucky last time that you were so tired. Now, you’d were already wide awake, sleep the farthest thing from your mind. All you could do was lay there and think about it.

Your fingers were still numb from the punches, the unshakeable feeling of rancid flesh sliding off bone. The true horror of what he looked like was lost to your subconscious, only a hazy memory to you, and you wanted to keep it that way. A distant memory was nightmarish enough.

You sat up and turned on your light, heaving the weight off your lungs. You were near dizzy in delirium, and you took a few minutes to get your bearings, resting your head on your forearms and taking deep breaths through your nose. Your thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. It was all _too much._

When the room stopped spinning, you got up and left. You needed air, a walk, _something_ that wasn’t a return to that hell. So, you wandered. The base was quiet, nobody would be in the halls at this hour. Even the rec room was cleared out. It looked like you were the only person awake in the whole building.

Well, not entirely true. You knew some agents had reverted their sleep schedules to take care of night watch, but you couldn’t find them. So, for your intents and purposes, you were alone. So, you did what you usually did when you needed to clear your thoughts: you wanted to run.

The light wouldn't come over the horizon for another few hours, so running the track wasn't a possibility. Not like it mattered anyways, you had been making more appointments with the treadmill in the gym than ever. Sure, it couldn't afford you the rushing wind and crisp, fresh air that a real run could. but you couldn’t help your own paranoia.

The track no longer felt safe. Your mind raced back to before, nearly a month ago, when that dart had struck your neck while you ran. How you'd brushed it off, not thinking anything of it until you were tasting dirt. Ever since that day, you couldn't bring yourself to even step on that track, staring off to where it looped through the woods near the base, out of sight, far away from anyone that could help.

You shivered at the thought. You wouldn't be seeing that track again for a long time.

The gym, like everywhere else, was empty. The weightlifting section was still glowing from Zarya's presence, her massive weight bench separate from everyone else’s, denoted by its reinforced lifting bar and gigantic weights on either end. Even her pink water bottle was still resting in its cup holder.  But for the beads of sweat that still ran down the bench's leather, there were no signs of anyone.

You weren't used to working out alone, but it wasn't going to be an official workout. You were still in your pajamas, feet bare and hair falling over your shoulders. The treadmill's grain felt uncomfortable under your feet, but once you had it on a brisk walking pace, you hardly noticed the discomfort. You stayed at that pace to warm up, eyes staring straight ahead and focused entirely on your machine.

The counter was on thirteen miles per hour when the door opened behind you. The distraction was so sudden you nearly tripped and fell trying to turn and face it. You caught your balance on the grips and pulled yourself to stand on the stationary part of the treadmill, assuring you had your balance before you assessed your visitor.

"You okay?" Your face immediately went white at the sight of your Commander, once again dressed up in his full uniform, looking ready for action. He was staring at you with what you imagined was concern, though it was difficult to make out the emotion that his tensed eyebrows were conveying.

"Y-Yes sir. I'm fine, sir," you breathed, hitting the switch on the treadmill and letting it power down while you stepped off. The machine buzzed to a stop, quieting down the only ambient noise in the entire room. You were shaking again, but for an entirely different reason this time, sweat lining every wrinkle and crack on your shaking palms. At least earlier, it had only been a nightmare.

"What's with the formality?" He's trying to be conversational, you can tell, but it's not really coming through. His voice is restrained, held back just like yours was. You forced a smile and tried to be conversational right back.

"You just caught me off guard, that's all." A reasonable excuse, but not one he gave a response to. You felt stuck; everything that came to your mind to say was either way out-of-line or a cookie cutter conversation piece. Neither of these seemed satisfactory, but what could you do? Why had it become so difficult to talk to him? Besides maybe the fact that you’d been avoiding social interaction for nearly a month.

"Sorry about that. Didn't think anyone else would be in here." He was weaving through the equipment slowly, making his way from the door to you.  Acting like a sudden movement would make you lash out. You felt weak at the implication. "You're working out in your pajamas?"

"Couldn't sleep." That was true, to some degree. You felt a bit better about the dream, most of the sensations that had carried from your mind to the waking world had disappeared during your run. His face was still front and center, though, his scream still ringing in your ears whenever you thought about it for more than a second. You scooted to the side and offered him the other half of the bench, which he took with a grunt of appreciation.

"Me neither. Been having nightmares." He said it dismissively, but when you turned to face him, he was looking at you. Watching your reaction. At your own wide eyes, his eyebrows shot up, and he leaned in just a bit closer to you. "Have you?"

"...I have."

He hesitated with his next word, but it slipped out after a moment of internal debate. "Reaper?"

"Yes." You didn't know why it had come out so easy, when you had been struggling so hard to tell anyone else, but it did. The words got jumbled in your throat every time you had tried to tell Mercy, you didn't want to tell Winston for fear of being a test subject, and nobody else even knew the full scope of what happened. You thought you were going to have to sort through it yourself, deal with the monster in your head alone. Now, your outlook was a little different. "Have you seen him too?"

"Yes." You hadn't heard it before then, but that single word made you realize just how tired he sounded. You had no idea how he had been sleeping since that day, but now you had a pretty good idea. You could only imagine how much Reaper had been bothering him compared to you.

“You have.” In that moment, an invisible barrier between the two of you that you were latently aware of became obvious, so much so that you felt it physically shatter when you reached out to touch him. Your palm grazed his masked cheek, and he melted under your touch, his hand reaching up to grab yours.

“I’ve missed you,” he admitted, and his voice was weaker than you had ever remembered it.  You always knew he was an empty man compared to what he once was, but you’d never heard him sound so **broken.** “I felt like I did something wrong, like I didn’t handle things the way I should have.”

“It wasn’t that,” you told him, your voice shaky from your impending tears. You hated being the cause of this. You knew the things that kept him from you; among them being his fear of you becoming his weakness. It looked like that had already happened.

“It doesn’t matter,” he responded, hand slowly following your arm up until it was caressing your cheek in turn. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

With his words, his tone, everything about this moment, you felt naked. Just not in the traditional sense. Here you were, bearing your souls to each other in the middle of the training room, where someone could walk in for their early morning workout any moment, just like he had.

"Can we--" the full sentence you were about to say crossed your mind and you flushed, realizing how untoward it sounded. You didn't want to propose it, but he was looking at you expectantly now, waiting for you to finish your sentence. You swallowed back your doubt and pressed on. "Can we go somewhere more private to continue this conversation?"

He didn't react right away, leaving you to the suspense of guessing what could possibly be going on behind his mask. His eyes trailed down, over your sweaty pajamas that you had no business working out in, and he met your eyes before spitting his answer. "Your room."

"Uh...sure." You stood and lead the way, though you were certain the path was etched into his memory from his countless early training sessions. Throughout the hall, you fought down your many different urges to break the silence with some sort of meaningless small talk.  The echoing footsteps affected your heart rate too much.

It wasn't soon enough when you finally reached your door, letting him in and closing it behind you. You adjusted the AC unit and kicked all the errant clothes off into a corner while he settled in. You glanced over and saw him looking over your desk, at the few contingency plans you had deemed solid enough to keep.

You had to go to sleep soon, though it was something you didn't look forward to in the least bit. You wondered if Reaper knew what you were talking about right now. If it would lead to consequences when you dreamed again.

"You've been having a hard time." He observed, eyes straying to the mountain of failed plans, something you’ve never done. "Dealing with it all. Haven't you?"

"That obvious?" It was rhetorical, of course. it was obvious. You had been locked up in your room, sleeping away your life, the opposite of everything you've come to be while you were here. Even the people who didn't know what happened had to have understood the scale of it. That incident took something out of you that you were never going to be able to get back. It ran deeper than your virginity, you just couldn’t put a name to it.

"Yeah." He's sad. It's true sadness you hear in his voice, and your heart throbs in pain at the sound of it. "It's obvious."

"It's not your fault." He shook his head, and you pressed on, not letting him deny you. "You didn't do it, so why blame yourself?"

"I have to take some responsibility," Jack said, turning to you and placing a hand on his chest. "Gabriel was my responsibility, you had no business getting involved, and I should have been more careful to prevent that from happening."

"It's too late for that," you told him, your firm voice not matching your pleading eyes. "I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It sucks, okay? I just want to see this through.”

He didn’t seem to have a response for that. His hand slid down his torso until it fell limp to his side, punctuating his defeat. It was difficult to linger on his guilt of the subject when you no longer wanted to talk about it. So, he dropped it.

“So,” you finished, staring him right in the visor. “What happens next, Jack?”

He starts to raise his arms, then catches himself, as if afraid to make sudden moves. He approaches you slower on this second try, hands finding your waist and pulling you close, until you could hear his heartbeat through his shirt. The move was unexpected, but what he said next was even more so.

"Let me show you," he asked--begged--tugging ever so gently on your shirt. "Let me show you what it would have been like."

Something about the way he said it stung your heart. Your words became a stone in your throat, unable to come out. You hadn’t expected this, not when you had just spent weeks avoiding the same person who was asking to be close to you now. Internally you were combatting, your body was in a state of turmoil and that alone gave you pause.

Yet, your mind felt so sure. You trusted him. Trusted that he would treat you write this second time. You dug deep into your mind, searching for any hesitancy, anything that could spring up and ruin this entire thing for a second time, but you felt sure through and through. He wouldn't let you down.

He took your hesitancy as a sign to desist, and began to pull away, an apology on the tip of his tongue. You shook your head and grabbed his hands, bringing them back until they hovered on either side of your face.

"Okay, Jack," you agreed, lifting one arm to drape over his shoulder. "Show me."

He was on you at once, his hands finding your sides and grazing over your clothed body. It was so much more pleasant than before, but at the same time it felt nothing like Jack. The gentle, hesitant touches didn't fit the man in front of you. You knew he was simply trying to be conscious of you, and you appreciated it. Enough not to urge him forward, merely throwing your head back and reveling in the way his fingers travelled over your stomach.

"How is it?" He's getting a little more confidence in his voice. He took his hands away and threw his gloves off, one then the other, until his hands were bare against your arms.  You look down at your body, at the light goosebumps trickling up your arms, at his strong, firm hands, and you nod in agreement.

"I'm okay. You?" He nods in return, and a little pressure raises off your heart. You wrap your other arm around his shoulder, pulling him close until your body was pressed flush against his. His hands fell to your waist, and you embraced him for a moment. "I'll tell you if it becomes...too much. Right now, I want to do this."

He chuckled over your shoulder. "Well, I didn't spend all that time trusting your judgment to doubt it now." He pulled back, letting you see his mask one final time before he clicked it off, sliding it off his face and letting it drop to his side.

You expect a horrid flashback when his eyes meet yours, but it's nothing. Just awe at the way the light bounced off his pupil, making the entire orb shine. He was beautiful. Without any looming threat, you could truly take it all in. His tough jawline, his salt-and-pepper stubble. The leathery scar that ran along the length of his face, changing the texture of his skin to that of burned flesh. You wanted to touch it, but that wasn't a leap you were willing to make; not yet at least.

"Thank you." You don't know why you said it, and you realized how cheesy it sounded once it left your lips. You felt your cheeks heat up a touch, but to your surprise, so does his.

"It's nothing you haven't seen before." It hits you as bittersweet. He tossed the mask to his side, freeing both of his hands so that he could caress your shoulders again. He kissed you, chaste and reserved at first, but when you chase after his lips greedily, he gives in and gives you what you want. A heavy, passionate kiss that ripped through every door you had set up before yourself, sloppy and with your eyes closed and rolled back in the socket.

This felt right.

The longer his hands roamed your flesh, cautiously sliding on the skin below your shirt but never travelling further, the more wanting you became. You felt heat between your thighs, which had been neglected since, and considered how far this might go. How far you could go comfortably, and if he felt the same. You opened your eyes and found him staring back at you, a dreamy gaze that persisted even after you broke away from his lips and took a breath.

“Can I?” you asked, hands grabbing onto the bottom of your shirt and pulling it up enough to expose your naval. His hands fell over yours, seeming as deep in thought as you were a second ago. Probably thinking over the same things as you.

“You’re sure?” he asked, looking right in your eyes for your answer. You brushed his hands off and disrobed, letting your actions speak instead. Since you’d come straight from bed, you had no bra on, leaving your breasts bare and free to the room and his admiring eyes.

"Wow. I mean--wow." He couldn’t tear his eyes away, hands reaching for you in want. You smiled, feeing so at peace with how normal this felt. Like before didn't count, and this was your real first time. He pressed his palms over your breasts, caressing them gently, and your body reacted to his touch instead of flinching away.

You weren't as broken as you thought.

"They’re nice,” he whispered, eyes straying from your chest and back up to yours. His touch became light, he fingers rubbed the tender flesh on your sides while his thumbs traced light circles around your nipples. You thrust your chest forward, desperate for more contact, and he complied with your request. Your tongue lolled over your lip in bliss, throwing your head back to gulp in deeper breaths. This was something you were experiencing for the first time; gentle foreplay.

"That's a nice look on you." He’s finally falling into his groove. His touch gets firmer, more deliberate. When he leans forward to kiss you again you take it with earnest, lips melding perfectly against his. Your body presses forward, and you feel the bulge in his pants, even though you could feel him moving his legs and hips to obscure it. He didn't want you to see how much he liked this.

You pulled your mouth from his, pressing your foreheads together to get close before you spoke. "Hey, it's okay," you reassured, earning a confused look.

"What is?"

"If we're not enjoying it, then what's the point of doing it?"

He didn't have an answer to that. His hips, which had been sliding back to escape you, froze in place, and you moved your hand to cup his bulge. It was a familiar size and shape, and this time you had to physically bite back the memory, washing it down with a sharp intake of air. You weren't letting this get ruined.

You massaged him through his pants, watching his face contort into the same expressions you were making seconds ago on his own, toned-down level. He clenched his teeth instead of letting his tongue hang out, his breaths escaping in little hisses that heated his cheeks. Your fingers found the button of his pants, sliding down to the zipper. His hand jolted down to grab your wrist, pulling it away from his crotch.

"Please," he muttered before you could get discouraged, his other hand sliding up to hold your cheek. "Let me."

You relaxed, and he lifted you effortlessly in his grip, turning around and laying you down on your bed. The standard issue cot had never felt more comfortable than it did in this moment. Once you were settled, he pulled his body over you, holding himself above you on the strength of his right hand. His other moved to find your breast, massaging it again beneath his dexterous fingers.

You're waiting for the moment where it all strikes you at once, but it never comes. Nothing but pleasure from his touch, knowing that he wouldn't do anything to hurt you. You reach up and grab onto his jacket, tugging on it to let him know you wanted it off. He smiled and pushed himself up, sliding it off and over the edge of the bed. His black tee shirt went next, revealing a new scar with every inch of skin revealed until the shirt too was thrown off the bed and you could freely stare.

"You look nice yourself," you say, trying to ignore your personal awkwardness. He smiled, clicking the notches on his tactical headgear until it fell off into his hands, placed with a degree of care on the floor. Now, with only your pants to separate the both of you, you feel more ready than ever.

"Nice to see someone still thinks so." He places a hand on your stomach, finger gently brushing across the torn scar that ripped across your entire side. You could practically feel the connection between the both of you growing stronger, your ties becoming that much more binding. Suddenly, you didn't know how you had spent almost a month without him. You **needed** him. You were at your best with him.

"I know so." He shook his head at your affirmation, but you could see the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. "I'm ready for this. Whenever you are."

Rather than jump to action at your words, he paused, really stopping to take in your entire form below him. You started to wiggle out of your pajama pants, sliding them down your thighs and exposing the rest of yourself to him. It was then that your gut finally started to recoil, your body unsure about being exposed in front of another person. You pressed it down, kicking your pants off the rest of the way, and you simply let yourself be free and waited for it to pass.

The longer he took to stare at your nude form rather than jump on it, the more at ease you felt, until you finally stopped clenching the muscles in your gut. He didn't move to undress himself, either. He sat back, straddling your waist, but all he did was admire.

"I want to take my time," he explained when you finally started to squirm, quelling your impatience with a hand against your chest. "Really get to know your body."

"You could do that with your hands, too." The statement didn't sound nearly so bold in your head, but now it was in the air and it had frozen both of you in place. The nervous smile spread across your face at the same moment a very knowing one crossed his. "I-I meant--"

"I know what you meant," he assured you, leaning down and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He sat back up and grabbed onto his combats, sliding the button out of its slit and lowering his zipper. “Just one more time, for my sake. Are you sure?”

You looked at where his hands moved, thinking to what was about to happen and honestly wondering if you would be up to it. Could you handle this? You weren’t sure, but you trusted Jack. He’d know what to do if you couldn’t. You weren’t alone in this one. So, you looked up in his eyes and gave a single, affirming nod.

“I’m sure.” He nodded right back, a genuine smile crossing his lips that you wanted to commit to memory for the rest of your life. You hoped you got to see many more of those.

“Okay.” His pants and underwear and pushed down in one go, his half-hard cock falling out of his pants and onto your lower stomach. It felt so warm and inviting on your stomach, the skin velvety soft and throbbing with the want to grow. You put your hand over it, picking it up off your stomach and stroking it, and you could feel him resist the urge to thrust in your hand.

“It’s been a while,” he managed through strained teeth, watching you work your hand back and forth with concentrated interest. You grinned at him, and he caught it and managed a smile back.

“It’s alright. Let’s not waste time then,” you said. He nodded and pressed his fingers in his mouth, wetting them with his tongue. They crawled between your legs and into your slit, wetting you for what was to come. You were already slick, your body preparing itself for him, and he moaned at how easily his fingers slid in and out of you.

“You’re ready for me.” His voice is getting lower, even gruffer than usual, and it sent a pleasant chill throughout your body. You arched your back and he slid his free hand beneath you, making you hold the position. “Perfect.”

“Oh, like this?” you asked, adjusting until you were comfortable. He pulled his hips back and moved until he was aligned at your entrance, his fingers falling away from your hole and sliding along your clit as he pulled them away.

“Let me know if this hurts,” he said, pushing forward until his tip was delving in your folds, pushing against you but not quite in. “I…lose track of my strength sometimes, being a super soldier.”

What?

He was pushing himself inside of you, your body jolting to attention at the familiar feeling of penetration. Your nerves alit with flames, warmth spreading through your limbs and escaping through your fingers and toes. You raised your legs and wrapped them around his hips, letting him push further into you, and he took the initiative to push in until his body was flush against yours, holding it for a second.

“How’s that?” he asked, both of his hands sliding to your hips and holding you up. “Is that okay?”

“It’s fine,” you begged, rolling your hips and urging him to move. “It’s fine, just _please_ — “

He needed no further instruction. He pressed his nose into your neck and rocked his hips back and forth, your bed slamming into the wall with every push, yet he wasn’t hurting you at all. Each thrust was punctuated, passionate, like he was struggling so hard **not** to pound into you with every one. You brought your hands up to his head, grabbing onto his hair and pulling him up until your lips were at his ear.

“You’re doing fine,” you whispered, kissing his jaw just beside his ear. “You’re not hurting me.”

He smiled and kissed you, pushing deep inside of you at the same time. You moaned into his mouth, pushing your tongue forward past his lips until it met his, mingling lightly. His hips continued their heavy rhythm, each thrust filling you completely, speeding up until he was at a steady pace.

“Tell me when you’re about to cum.” You nodded, and he pressed his middle finger on your clit, massaging it gently and savoring the cries of ecstasy it brought out of you. He increased his pace further, grabbing hold of your thigh and pulling you forward to match his thrusts. Your legs fell from his hips, spent, but he easily held you with his one hand.

“Jack!” you shrieked, hips wriggling furiously from the rapid overstimulation you were approaching. He groaned and sped up even faster, driving you close to your edge. “I’m gonna—gonn—cum!”

“Me too, if you keep that up.” So close to the verge already, all it took was a particularly rough brush of his finger on your clit to send you tumbling into orgasm. Your entire body fell slack save for your hips, twitching with the shocks of pleasure that rippled from inside of you.

Jack didn’t last much longer, your walls clenching around him was nearly enough to send him over, and he only needed to fuck you through your post-orgasm haze for only a second longer before he pulled out, distracting you from the sudden emptiness by cumming directly on your stomach, pumping himself with his head steadily as strand after strand of cum spread across your stomach, ending with his shuddering breath and near toppling over.

“Sorry,” he muttered, catching himself with his arm and looking at you with a weak smile. “Virile, too.”

“Because of the super soldier thing?” you breathlessly asked.

“Yep.”

“You’re gonna have to explain that one to me.” He turned his head to the side, having a sort of internal debate process with himself before he turned to face you once again.

“I suppose it’s fair,” he said, pulling off of you and moving to lay beside you in the small, twin-sized bed. “But it’ll be another time.”

“I hope there’s time for plenty of those,” you say, lying your head down on your pillow and closing your eyes. His head came to lay right next to yours, breath hot on your face.

“There will be.” You opened your eyes, and for a second you swore you saw a ring of deep red circling his iris, his pupil dilated to cover nearly all of his sky blue shade. You closed your eyes and opened them again, and the illusion was gone. It was just him, smiling down at you, waiting for your response.

Preoccupied with other, grimmer thoughts, your response came out nearly automated. “I can’t wait.”


End file.
